To Own His Heart
by kcscooter
Summary: Claire, a wealthy beauty, is forced to accompany her father on his trip to the changeling slave market where the hottempered Cat – always determined to escape – is up for sale. What will come from this match made from money and blood? Love or murder…?
1. What Money Can Buy

_**To Own His Heart**_

**Summary: **Claire, a wealthy beauty, is forced to accompany her father on his trip to the changeling slave market where the hot-tempered Cat - always determined to escape - is up for sale. What will come from this match made from money and blood? Lust or murder…?

**Disclaimer: **The characters of the Sohma family do not belong to me, but Claire is my beautiful heroine and I dare any of you to try and steal her.

--Chapter 1: What Money Can Buy-- _Claire…_

The air was thick and I could feel the condensation rise up on my skin as I waded through the throng of people. On top of feeling like I was breathing water, a bit of it, in the form of sweat, ran down the side of my neck making my skin crawl. The steamy air seemed to only grow denser as I followed the tall form of my father who was large enough to provide a meager shelter from the sweltering sun to our right. I did everything I could to keep from thinking of where I was, and found myself grateful for the distraction the sticky environment provided. Nevertheless, I couldn't keep my eyes off of the auction blocks forever; my gaze darted in different directions as bidders raised their voices to be heard of the multitude of grunts and groans of animals and humans alike.

Earlier that morning I had told my father that I wanted to stay at home, but like always he replied with a grumble, meaning my opinions didn't rank very high on his list. After being forcibly put into our carriage and scolded with language I knew was improper for a man of his status to use, I had told him as hotly as I could that I would stay in the coach while he went about his business. This time I was met with a black glare and his harsh voice telling me that since he was buying this slave for _me, _I _naturally _had to be present. I fought back the urge to inquire as to what was exactly 'natural' about owning another person and stiffly kept my mouth shut.

I winced as the auctioneers' hammers pounded on their podiums, and a loud '_Sold!'_ made the hairs on the back of my neck rise. Of course, these weren't exactly _men_ being passed from owner to owner like bags of salt. No, these were the captured changelings ranging from colors of deep russet and bronze to the exotic grey and purple that some ladies on a neighboring plantation favored in their household.

These changelings, I was told, were the best slaves money could buy – none could molest a human of the opposite sex without changing into their respect demon, and the most vicious were kept under control by collars around their necks or wrists. I really didn't care that they wouldn't molest me or could be controlled; I really didn't care that the… _thing_ on the auction block might make a good breeder; and I really didn't care for a slave at all. I wanted no part of this, but being a woman was my downfall, and I could do nothing besides abide by my father's wishes.

Said man raised his hand in a bid for a sad looking boy who looked about twelve. His large brown eyes reminded me of a puppy I had when I was young – large, troubled but trusting eyes. Then I remembered which slave station we were at… the Dog. I felt sick. Murmuring a word to my father, I made a hasty exit, praying that the boy on the block would find a good home… But not one with me. I couldn't bear to look into those warm eyes everyday and know that I _owned _him. Even if he wasn't completely human, he didn't deserve this treatment.

Sitting down on a crude bench in the corner of the market square, I was given a grand view of the auctioning tents. All set in a circle, Dogs, Horses, Cats, Rats, Tigers, Dragons, Snakes, Birds, Rabbits, Oxen, Boars, and Monkeys. I had to admit that the men and women changelings were magnificently made with bright hair and liquid eyes. Even the men who were stripped down to nothing save a loincloth carried themselves with such dignity and pride that it pained me to see it.

Before my very eyes, I saw children torn from their parent's grasp and handed over to greedy paws just waiting to see what prize their money had purchased. A small girl, whom I guessed was a Snake – almost glowing with blonde-white hair and startling green eyes – darted under the legs of her new master as he drunkenly tried to grasp her from behind. Being the slippery serpent that she was, the girl slid from his embrace, but it was only a matter of time. As the bile rose in my throat, I turned my head barely missing the sight of a large, meaty fist colliding with her soft, delicate skin.

That was only the beginning.

I nearly leapt out of my corner and shrank back into the crowds, looking for my father. I could only hope that he had found something suitable to his standards so that we could leave. "Excuse me…" I murmured as I passed a line of fresh changelings waiting their turn on the auction block. The chains around their wrists clanked together and reverberated in my head, making the throbbing in my temples echo like doomsday. A few snorted when I passed, whispering obscenities; I was thankful that I wasn't close enough to hear what was actually being said. I had passed the Rat's station by this point and only needed to round the corner of the Cat's block before I was safely outside of the market walls and could wait for my father in peace.

A sudden snarl ripped out of a man's chest directly behind me, and I couldn't stop myself from instinctively jumping back. I collided with another man and his wife, but they seemed too intent on the sight before them to even notice me. _Well that's bloody fine with me, _I thought. Without thoroughly thinking my actions through, I half-turned to where the growl had come from, only to see a tall Cat being shoved onto the stage. I was first struck dumb by the sight of his glorious body, dripping in nervous sweat and covered in lash marks from the whipping post. A single slash of cloth covered his most private parts, but from where I stood, I knew that everyone was fixed on the sight below his hips more than his face.

Breeding Station.

I, on the other hand, had no interest in what lay under the cloth. Squinting through the rays of sun, I caught sight of his face – sunburned on the bridge of his nose and strong Viking cheekbones. Slanted eyes below scowling brows shot fire toward the crowds in ultimate defiance as his broad mouth curled back in another sneer, revealing a set of brilliant teeth. He didn't see me, of course, something I was grateful for. I could only imagine what I would feel like if his accusing gaze landed on me and shuddered at the thought.

"A fine male, for sure!" The auctioneer started pitching, "Broad chest, strong legs, and a fine ass, if I do say so myself!" The crowd erupted in a rumbling chuckle, as I stood frozen by the display. I had thought that after a morning spent at a slave auction I was prepared for anything.

Oh, how wrong I had been.

Without further comment, the auctioneer grasped the man below his cloth and squeezed heartily. The startled Cat grunted and struggled back, clearly surprised by this treatment and not enjoying it in the least. Another laugh spread over the audience and I could feel the heat of anger creep up the back of my neck. The auctioneer rubbed his thumb around the flaming member in his hand, completely oblivious to the glare directed toward his head from the embarrassed Cat. "See! A fine breeder, no doubt-!"

"Stop!" I couldn't have stopped myself from speaking. A hush fell over the crowd around me, and I knew without looking that the slave's eyes had finally found their mark. I could feel the burning sensation of the daggers his was shooting in my direction with his glare and my stomach dropped down to my toes.

I hadn't heard him come forward, but suddenly my father was by my side, equally as appalled by my behavior as the people surrounding us. With a silent raise of a finger, he placed the first bid, considering me out of the corner of his eye. _Yes_, his glower told me, _Yes, you are in trouble so don't even think about running_. After a hesitant start, the bidding resumed, although there was a notable pause after each proposal was raised where the would-be purchaser chanced a glance in my direction.

Near the end of the bidding that I was forced to sit through, I was taken aback by sight of my father raising his hand again. My gaze searched his face to see what he was thinking, and without a doubt I knew that this was the man he had chosen for me. God bless, I _was _truly cursed. Would my mortification ever end? At the moment, the answer was a resounding _no. _"Five pounds, six shillings!" My father raised the stakes even higher, and I felt rather than saw the sag of many shoulders as the price went far above the limits of their purses.

Swallowing the bile that had threatened to come up, I peeked up through my lashes at the Cat. His cold, red scowl was fixed solely on my face, as I knew it would be. Ducking my head in embarrassment and sickness, I heard the auctioneer finally utter a deep "Sold."

That was that. I was now the proud owner of an evil looking, hating, changeling breeder. Hurray for me. I was certainly less than thrilled at this news. But like my feet had a mind of their own, they obediently followed my father's form to the back of the tent to pay for the slave and retrieve him. "Claire," my father said quietly. I didn't look up. "Claire, I don't know what the hell you were thinking, but you did well. He is better than the other I had in mind." _Thank you, Father, _I thought bitterly, _I'm so happy that my tastes please you. _

The dull thud of more hammers hitting the podiums and the echoing patter of bare feet along the wood of the block at once seemed so close and so far. I could feel the vibrations in the pit of my stomach, and yet, it was like I was watching this scene as someone else – like I wasn't really here.

But I was.

With one last look in front of us, I could see the broad expanse of my new prize, having his auction chains removed only to be put in ones for traveling. My body quivered at the crisscrossing marks along his skin, making it seem as though a spider had weaved her web. Some wounds were fairly fresh, I could see, with a soft pink tint outlining the white of the slash.

My father's large boot crushed a twig in the grass as we approached – an innocent act. But it was enough of a disturbance to bring the Cat's gaze over his scarred shoulder and directly at us. Those slanted, feline eyes regarded me carefully with irises seeming black in the shade of the tree overhead. But I had seen those eyes flash with a red flame in the heat of the sun, and at once I knew that either he would kill me or I would die of fright. Neither of which sounded particularly pleasant.

--To be continued--

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	2. Close Quarters

_**To Own His Heart**_

**Summary: **Claire, a wealthy beauty, is forced to accompany her father on his trip to the changeling slave market where the hot-tempered Cat – always determined to escape – is up for sale. What will come from this match made from money and blood? Lust or murder…?

**Disclaimer: **The characters of the Sohma family do not belong to me, but Claire is my beautiful heroine and I dare any of you to try and steal her.

--Chapter 2: Close Quarters-- _Kyo…_

The man was nearly the same build as I – broad chest, massive height – but his face was weathered with age and the sun. Here was a man who had worked for a living, or rather, worked to get the slaves to make his living for him. Yes, that was it. I doubted that my new master had ever really put a day's effort into planting, harvesting, or building. Yet, here he was able to buy me with the money other slaves' blood and sweat had earned.

Blood money.

It made me sick to watch this man hand over his purse to the auction guard, but I couldn't bear to look at the other person standing beside him. I had heard her call out in the middle of the auction just as the man had grabbed me. I swear on my mother's grave that if she hadn't distracted me, that man would not have lived another minute. But what can I say to her? Obviously not 'Thank you for purchasing me.' Nor could I begrudge her for stopping those grubby hands.

I made up my mind to just not say anything. That is what most masters expected in a slave, anyway – silence, obedience, submission. I sneered at the man as he looked me over boldly like I was only an animal. If he did notice my look, he gave no heed and continued to talk back and forth between the man holding my papers. As usual, I blocked their words out, not caring to hear what my credentials were.

That's when I realized I had no choice but to look at the girl. What else was I to do? Stare at my feet like a frightened Rabbit? God, no. I set my jaw firmly and peered down my nose at the slip of a child who had saved me and ruined me in one breath. Feeling my gaze, she glanced up and clearly thought better of it as her eyes met mine and widened. Her jaw closed with an audible snap when she turned her head, shying away.

Basking in a momentary victory, I kept watching her, almost daring the girl to look at me again. I had a good idea of what my glare did to humans who were not used to the unwavering stare of the Cat. By dent of will, she turned her face to me with something different behind her eyes – resolve? – and raised her chin. _Oh great_, I thought grimly, _she has pride._ Masters with pride usually have a good whipping arm. With a flick of my brow I engaged her in a silent battle of wills. Would the slave back down to his new mistress, or would the mistress except defeat quietly?

Her shoulders rose and set themselves as I had seen many men do when they were called to prove themselves. It was an odd gesture for a woman of her status to make, but I kept silent. She was small, true, and young… someone who shouldn't be able to give him much trouble if I decided to part company with her. She was fine-boned, obviously pretty for a human, but I would never admit that if she asked. Her hair was a soft brown with odd curls that surrounded her pale oval face.

Normal?

Nope.

Her eyes were not the brown I had first thought when he stood looking down at her from the auction block. Instead they flashed a brilliant gold, almost the same color as fine whisky. Not that I had ever had the privilege of partaking in that special treat, but I knew the color…

Odd, again.

I could plainly see her pulse flutter under her jaw, a nervous sign. Yet, she still kept her eyes locked with mine. Sometime later, I heard the impatient sound of someone clearing his throat. Both of our eyes hesitated, unsure if breaking the contact would mean defeat or just a draw. _Draw_, I thought quietly, _we aren't finished._ She seemed to come to the same conclusion and shifted her bright eyes toward the tall man beside her. "Claire," he addressed the girl, "Call Carslile over and tell him that we are finished." She nodded, and I could see that she fought the urge to look back at me just as much as I restrained from asking who the hell Carlisle was.

A clink brought me back to reality, and I glanced down to find a chain hooked onto the metal cuffs of my binding. _At least it's not a collar. _He tugged me forward, obviously thinking I was too stupid to know when to move my feet. Intending to amuse my new master, I played along and gave him a dumbfounded look. Earning a snarled command, I was practically dragged toward the waiting carriage.

At first it was just a few cool drops, but within seconds, the sky opened and God's tears soaked the earth. Most of the other slaves turned their faces upward, silently praising this gift from heaven with opens mouths and wetted tongues. A shudder passed through my body, but one of relief. The burning marks etched on my back were calmed and I could finally take a breath of fresh air without believing my back would split down the middle.

The man and girl did not seem to share the same grateful attitude for the rain, but yelled to the driver, who I assumed was the Carslile spoken of before. Soon, the lovely drops of life were out of reach as I was shoved inside the carriage and crammed into one seat. The girl – _Claire_, I corrected myself – was lifted in by the man and he followed quickly, acting as if the rain would melt him on the sight. Not that I would mind… A mental smirk satisfied me for the moment, as I set about regrouping my thoughts.

The coach lurched forward along with my stomach which was not at all prepared for the sudden movement. The chain linked to my wrists was tightened as the man's fist wrapped itself twice around the length. _Like I would risk jumping out of a moving carriage into huge piles of mud? No thanks. _But I kept my eyes downcast, only allowing them to peek through my lashes.

Claire's eyes were not on me, as I thought they would be to continue our earlier 'conversation.' Instead, she watched the rain patter against the small glass window set in the door. Her small frame was shaking from the cold even though she had found a dark cloak to drape over her shoulders. I sighed silently, cursing the stupidity of humans. When the changelings were cold, all that was required was a simple shift into their other form and huddling next to others for warmth, not finding the fur of another animal and wrapping it carelessly over their bodies. _And they call us savage…_

At this close range, I could smell the musky scent of the man heightened by the leather scent of his gloves. A fresher smell came from the other side of the carriage – one of grass and clean water. The girl had bathed recently, then. An uncomfortable silence grew around us, and having already named each scent, counted the scrapes that covered my bare toes, and wished upon each lightning bolt I saw, there was nothing left I could do but wait. _Oh, joy… and such pleasant company, too. _

"You, boy." I blinked. Turning toward the voice, I saw the man peering at me with interest. "What is your name? Or does your kind not name their young?" Words weren't coming. All I saw was pure, white fury behind my eyes and… I could do nothing.

He held the rope, he held the whip, and he held my life.

Damn him.

With a mute nod I indicated that I _did _have a name, but the choice of telling it was solely up to me. One of the only things I had control over – my identity. Sure, I might work as a slave, but that is not what I _am. _I am Kyo. And I refuse to let anyone take that from me. Again he stared at me along with Claire – her golden eyes seeming slightly softer than those of her father. I was used to being called 'servant,' 'slave boy,' or my personal favorite, 'hey, you.'

The man didn't seem dispelled by my resolution not to talk, but watched me a bit more carefully like I had something terrifying on my mind. Granted, I _did _have his death at the front of my mind, but the thought wasn't terrifying to _me_. Sick of looking at him, I turned my attention to the window only to be stopped by those hawk-like eyes of Claire following me.

_Back to our game? _my eyes asked.

_Yes. _she answered.

And that was that.

--To be continued...--

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